The Bridesmaid Pact (11 page)

‘What? You never told me that,’ I said. ‘Anyway, we’re not using that woman. She kept talking constantly about my dark aura and pretty much made me feel the wedding was doomed.’

‘Well don’t use her then,’ said Darren.

‘But like an idiot I paid the deposit,’ I groaned. ‘And there isn’t time to find anyone else.’

‘Well un-pay it,’ said Darren. ‘Or we’ll just swallow the loss. The amount of Freecycling you’ve been doing, we can afford some cock-ups. And I’m sure we can find someone else.’

Dear dependable Daz. What would I do without him?

I laid myself contentedly against his chest, while Woody gurgled happily in the background. I wished life could always be like this. Me and Daz and Woody, safe, secure. Together. Forever.

September 1997

What do I remember?

I was nervous as hell. Fretting that it was a bad omen that the wedding I’d planned for so many months was going to take place on the day of Diana’s funeral. And thanks to Caz, the Bridesmaid Pact we’d made all those years ago wasn’t now going to happen. Feeling that I was missing something somehow, that things were happening I didn’t know about, that people were talking about me behind my back.

Pacing up and down the lounge in my bridal finery wishing I could have a fag, but not daring to escape upstairs and smoke one out of the loo like I used to.

Doris. Barking, crackpot loony Doris, face caked with make-up as ever, spotting how I was feeling and slipping me a G & T.

‘Where did you hide that?’ I ask when she passes me the hip flask, but I already know the answer.

She hitches up her skirt and pops it back in her garter. The obvious place for it really. What would I do without dear old dotty Doris in my life?

‘I feel like a naughty schoolgirl,’ I confess.

‘Every girl should have G & T for Dutch courage on their wedding day,’ declares Doris before having another swig herself. Shit. At this rate she’ll be pickled going up the aisle.

Beth comes in and says the car’s here. Mum bustles over and gives me a hug. I almost can’t look at her. Daren’t let her see the panic in my eyes. Am I doing the right thing,
am I?

Then, alone with Dad. Both of us pacing the lounge. Me not wanting him to ask the question that’s been hovering on his lips for months now.
Are you sure? I don’t think he’s the right one for you, pet.
Don’t say it, Dad. Then I don’t have to think it.

‘Wish I didn’t have to make a speech,’ says Dad, pulling a crumpled-up scrap of paper out of his pocket and peering at it myopically.

‘You’ll be fine,’ I say, suddenly clocking he’s as nervous as I am.

‘Pet—’ he begins and I shush him, the car arriving prevents the need for a heart to heart. If I can just get to the church without having to talk to Dad about the way I feel. Without thinking about why Caz decided to desert me in my hour of need. Without that fatal stab of jealousy when I think of how well she seems to get on with Steve, who was more interested in Caz than me to start with. Without that fear that he’s going to leave me. Without all the doubts that have kept me awake at night resurfacing now, at the wrong moment. If I can do all that, and get down the aisle to see him standing there, waiting for me, I know it will be fine. Everything will be fine. This is the best day of my life. It has to be fine.

I keep a bright patter up all the way to the church; it’s
only ten minutes in the car. The busy suburban streets of my youth are silent today though, everyone’s inside watching Diana’s funeral. My chatter is so bright and breezy, Dad’s casting me odd looks as if to say,
Calm down, love
. I know I must sound vaguely hysterical. I
feel
vaguely hysterical. We’re approaching the church now, I can see the last-minute guests rushing through the wooden doors, and my stomach’s in my mouth, my heart is beating erratically, my hands are beginning to sweat. I feel faint.

‘Are you all right, pet?’ Dad squeezes my hand and looks at me, and suddenly as the car prepares to pull up in front of the church I can’t hide it from him any more.

‘I can’t do it, Dad,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t marry Steve.’

‘Right,’ says Dad firmly, leaning over to the chauffeur, ‘don’t pull up, go past the church and once around the block.’

He takes my hand, and holds it firmly.

‘Now, pet, what’s this all about? Are you sure it’s not just wedding nerves?’

I glance out of the window as we pass Mum and the girls staring in surprise as we don’t stop. I can’t see Steve anywhere. Presumably he and Joe, his younger brother and best man, are already in the church. Oh god. I feel so churned up. All those people. Waiting for me. Waiting for us. I can’t cancel now. I know how much this has cost Mum and Dad for starters. They’ve been determined to push the boat out for me, their only daughter, and I’ve had the feeling I’ve been on a rollercoaster I can’t get off for months and months.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, beginning to blub. Damn. Now my mascara will run. ‘I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.’

‘Well,’ says Dad slowly, ‘your mum and I have wondered that ourselves. Steve isn’t the person we’d have chosen for you.’

‘I knew it,’ I say. ‘You’ve never liked him, have you?’

‘It’s not a question of whether we like him,’ says Dad. ‘He’s your choice. What do you think? Can you face a life without him? Because if you walk away now, that’s it. It will be all over. But if you’re having doubts, maybe it’s better to get out before it’s too late.’

I take a deep breath. I think about a life without Steve and can’t imagine it. He is so much part of my life. And I love him. Whatever I imagine has or hasn’t happened with Caz, I love him. Looking back, it seems so stupid. But I am young. More, naïve. I still think love is enough.

‘I’m not,’ I say firmly. ‘I was just having a last-minute wobble. It’s just such a big commitment.’

‘It is that,’ says Dad dryly, ‘you just ask your mother.’

I laugh.

‘Have you ever had doubts about you and Mum?’ I ask.

‘Never,’ says Dad. ‘I knew she was mine from the moment I clapped eyes on her. Which isn’t to say that everything’s always run smoothly, mind. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, but nothing serious.’

I think about that. I am sure of my feelings for Steve, but can I be sure of his for me? I shove the insecure nagging doubt which says I should be sure of
that
on my wedding day, and take a deep breath. Better to love and lose and all that, and I do love Steve.

‘I’m being stupid,’ I say. ‘Come on, Dad, get me to the church on time.’

The wedding itself passed in a blur. I remember walking down
the aisle to Clarke’s ‘Trumpet Voluntary’ on Dad’s arm,
churning with emotion. I’d picked it out of sentimentality, remembering
Diana’s wedding. It seemed to bode ill today.

The church was packed to the rafters, my family and friends all jammed in on the left side: aunts I saw once a year, cousins I’d barely seen since childhood, friends of my parents, a few of my nursing friends. Somehow since I’d been with Steve there hadn’t been so much time for my own mates, though I could see all of Steve’s pals crowded together in the middle of the church.

Thanks to my indecision, we were running ten minutes late. Steve looked furious as I approached him.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ he hissed as I arrived. ‘I was mortified.’

‘I nearly didn’t,’ I felt like hissing back, but I just smiled and apologized, foolishly setting a pattern for a marriage which only was ever going to work in one person’s favour.

The sun shone through the stained-glass window, as Father Cormack joined our hands, and we solemnly made our vows, and I promised to love, honour and obey Steve till death did us part. When we’d exchanged rings, Steve lifted my veil and said, ‘Congratulations, Mrs Johnson,’ before planting a huge kiss on my lips. For the first time all day my nerves calmed down and I began to think everything would be OK.

Walking back down the aisle, my spirits lifted, and we came out of the church as the sun shone, laughing and smiling as our friends and relatives jostled to congratulate us, and take photos, and throw confetti.

Steve held my hand tightly throughout, and kissed me every time someone took our photo. I began to relax and enjoy the moment.

Finally I’d married the man I loved. And I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone spoil my day.

Beth

‘I can’t believe you told the girls,’ said Matt in disgruntlement, as we waited outside the clinic for our appointment to see if the IVF had worked. Matt was still cross with me for going to Caz’s mum’s funeral, though I’d tried to persuade him it wouldn’t make any difference.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It just slipped out. I was dying to tell someone.’

‘But what if it hasn’t worked?’ said Matt. ‘I’d just rather we’d kept it to ourselves till we know for sure.’

‘Don’t be so negative,’ I said. ‘It’s going to have worked. It know it’s worked.’

I was so determined not to allow myself any negative thoughts I had practically convinced myself I was already pregnant. My period still hadn’t come, and I took that as such a good sign I hadn’t even taken the pregnancy test the hospital had given us. I had to be pregnant, I just had to be.

It was ridiculous of me to be so positive. And part of me kept saying I was riding for a fall. But I couldn’t help myself. The last fortnight had been so incredibly long and tense, I’d had to keep optimistic or I’d have gone mad. And after the months and years of disappointment, I felt
we were so close to Foetus becoming a reality I couldn’t bear to think it wouldn’t happen.

We did have a Plan B, which was to dip into our savings should we need to have a second go at IVF, but we could only afford one attempt like that. And we’d so wanted that money for Foetus. Despite trying to keep positive, I couldn’t help it. Now we were here, my heart was hammering in my mouth, what if it hadn’t worked? Perhaps I was destined to be one of those women who suffered from phantom pregnancies. I couldn’t rid myself of the thought that I was being punished for what I’d done.

‘Mr and Mrs Davies?’ The nurse ushered us into Mr O’Brian’s office.

‘Well I won’t keep you in suspense,’ said Mr O’Brian. Oh god. There was something about his tone, something about the way he wasn’t quite looking at us.

‘I’m really very sorry,’ he said. ‘Your blood tests were negative. The IVF hasn’t worked this time.’

A wave of cold shock washed over me. The procedure had failed. Despite the doubts and the worry, I had been so sure he was going to tell me that Foetus was finally real. I couldn’t take it in.

I was vaguely aware of the doctor talking about our other options, and what we could do next. I even think I heard him saying, ‘It’s not the end of the road,’ but I couldn’t focus on anything. I wanted to let out a howl of despair, but I couldn’t do it here, not with all these people. I clutched blindly at Matt, as he led me from the room.

‘It’s all my fault,’ I said. ‘All my fault. I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have—’

I was going to tell him the truth. I couldn’t stand keeping it secret any longer.

Matt sat me down in the hospital café and got me a cup of tea.

‘Deep breaths, Beth, deep breaths,’ he said. ‘Look, this isn’t your fault. I know I got cross with you for going out to Caz’s mum’s funeral, but you heard the doctor, it wouldn’t have made a difference. I know you feel terrible right now. So do I. But this is just the beginning. We can try again. It will all come good in the end.’

‘But—’

‘Shhh,’ Matt put a finger to his lips. ‘We have to stay positive, remember. It hasn’t worked this time, but we’ve got our savings. We can have another go. It will be fine, you’ll see.’

I sipped my tea and tried to focus on staying positive. The moment of confession had passed. Matt still didn’t know my guilty secret.

‘Well would you ever believe it?’ my mother greeted us at the front door. ‘It’s Matthew and Elizabeth. It’s been that long since we’ve seen you both we were beginning to forget what you looked like.’

‘Oh, will you be quiet you silly woman.’ Dad came up behind her. ‘It’s only been a fortnight. These two young things don’t want to be spending all their time with awdies like us.’

‘Less of the awd, Kevin McCarthy,’ said Mum. ‘I’m not in my grave yet. Though I might well be before these two get round to producing our grandchild.’

She’d said it. I’d known she would, and I hadn’t wanted to come because it was the same every time. Less than subtle hints about who in the parish had become grandparents this week, and wondering why some people (with a heavy
emphasis on the
some
) were taking their time about it. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

I wished I did have the sort of mother I could confide in about all things gynaecological. Apart from vague pronouncements from time to time about the curse and Eve’s punishment being a harsh one, Mum had remained silent about the facts of life, presumably expecting me to absorb that sort of information by osmosis. Had it not been for Dorrie, Sarah and Caz I’d have thought I was bleeding to death the first time I had my period.

‘Oh will you leave them alone, woman,’ said Dad. ‘They’ll have babbies when they’re good and ready. It’s none of your business.’

Matt shot him a grateful look and squeezed my hand.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ I whispered, ‘you know how she will go on.’

Matt still didn’t get why I wouldn’t come out and talk about it. His mum knew all about the IVF and had commiserated soundly when Matt had rung her to say it had failed.

‘I notice your brother never gets this treatment,’ murmured Matt as we went down to sit in the lounge with Dad, while Mum clucked off to the kitchen to carry on cooking for the army that she apparently thought she was feeding.

‘Shh.’ I smacked his hand. It was true that my brother James didn’t get asked every five minutes when he was about to produce a grandchild. Maybe even Mum had managed to subliminally get the message he was gay, even if she’d never ever be able to say it out loud. The fact that he and his ‘friend’ George had been living together for five years, had the neatest house you’ve ever seen and only had one bedroom, should have been a dead giveaway. But my mother has the greatest capacity of anyone I know to see
what she wants to see and ignore the rest. George was a nice young man who was ‘helping James out with his mortgage’ till James found himself a suitable young woman.

‘I’ll laugh if James and George come home with a baby one day,’ said Matt.

‘Yes, that would be hilarious,’ I said, deadpan. ‘I can think of nothing more hideous.’

‘It’d be one way of outing themselves,’ he said.

‘Shh,’ I said again. Dad had come back in the room bearing drinks. I didn’t think Dad would have minded so much, but he was a traditionalist too and it was hard for them to understand the choices we made.

I loved my mother warts and all, even with her blind prejudices and her ability to drive me demented. She had a heart of gold, but had been brought up with a narrow puritan set of values which seemed out of kilter in the modern world. I knew from the little I’d seen of Caz’s mother how lucky I was.

‘Are you OK?’ Matt said quietly as they laughed and joked in the kitchen.

‘Not really,’ I said.

‘We shouldn’t have come this week,’ said Matt. ‘I knew your mum would go on about babies.’

‘They’d be suspicious if we hadn’t,’ I said. ‘And Mum
always
goes on about babies, so it’s never going to be easy.’

‘Who’s going on about babies?’ said Mum, bustling in to say lunch was ready.

‘You,’ I said, trying to make a joke of it. ‘But I promise you, if I ever get pregnant you’ll be the first to know. But for now I keep telling you, I’m concentrating on my career.’

‘You career girls,’ Mum said shaking her head. ‘It was all different in my day.’

Not so very different, I longed to say, but instead, I laughed and said with a certainty I didn’t feel, ‘There’s plenty of time for babies, isn’t there, Matt?’

‘Plenty,’ echoed Matt, squeezing my hand as we went to sit down. I wished I could believe it.

‘I’m so sorry the IVF didn’t work,’ Sarah had rung me when I was on the tube going home, a couple of days later. I’d had a tiring day at work, and felt miserable most of the day. Apart from my boss, I hadn’t told anyone at work about the IVF. They were all twenty-somethings with plenty of time ahead of them, how could they possibly understand?

‘Did Dorrie tell you?’ I’d rung Dorrie first. Doris was always the one you turned to in a crisis. She could be relied on to be there, supporting, helping, cheering you on.

‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

‘Really?’ Sarah sounded sceptical.

‘Sarah, I’m on a crowded commuter train. I don’t wish to talk about my private life here,’ I hissed.

‘Oops, sorry,’ said Sarah. ‘I forget real people go out to work.’

‘Yeah, well it’s all right for you, at home with your four-bedroom house and perfect family.’

‘Oh Beth,’ said Sarah, ‘don’t be like that, I do understand how tough it is for you.’

‘How can you possibly understand what I’m going through?’ I said. ‘Do you know how long Matt and I have been trying for a baby? For the best part of five years. You have no idea what that feels like.’

It was uncharacteristic of me to let vent to my emotions to my friends. I hate confrontation and normally avoid
arguments. But, and Sarah wasn’t to know this, a nasty ignominious part of me felt jealous and resentful that she’d had her babies so easily without any trouble, when it seemed so hard for me. It didn’t seem fair.

‘Right,’ Sarah sounded a bit stiff and hurt. ‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. Clearly this isn’t a good time.’

‘No. It isn’t,’ I said savagely and snapped my mobile shut.

I leant against the window of the tube and sighed heavily as the train pulled out of the station and went underground again temporarily. I felt like getting swallowed up in the darkness. I shut my eyes and wished that all my pain would just go away, and I would wake up and find out it had all been a ghastly mistake. Foetus was real and we were going to have a baby. It had to happen. It had to. I couldn’t bear the thought of it not.